


Healing

by theclockiscomplete



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclockiscomplete/pseuds/theclockiscomplete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. Amy is safely back on board the TARDIS after a terrible run-in with violent aliens, but her body isn't the only thing damaged. No specific time frame. Lighter than it sounds but resplendent with friendship h/c. T for brief mental trauma and implied violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago and never got around to showing it to anyone but my two irl Doctor Who friends. I'm working on the multi-chapter fic, but I took a break to be a little post-happy since I just joined. Enjoy!

“Take me to her.” The doors to the TARDIS slammed behind the Doctor as he strode purposefully through the console room towards the shifting corridor. He all but ran to the first door his time machine presented him and hesitated before giving a timid knock. “Amy?” There was no reply, but he thought he might have heard the rustle of fabric. “Amy, I’m going to open the door.” He turned the knob and the green door—because Scotland, she’d said when he asked why she wanted it green—swung open. He’d never been inside Amy’s room before, but he didn’t waste time looking around. He lunged to the floor beside the figure curled up in a ball, shaking with silent sobs, and took her in his arms. He was careful to avoid obvious bruises and scrapes as he pulled her close. She screamed, short and broken, and pushed against him as hard as she could. “no, no , no—Amy, it’s me. I promise. Shhh. Stop it, it’s me.” He placed a cool palm on the side of her face and she stiffened, tears continuing to fall from unopened eyes. She relaxed into his hand and burrowed closer, clutching at his shirt. “Amelia Pond,” The Doctor murmured, and his eyes were shattered shadows. “What did they do to you?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but after a few moments, Amy’s sobs quieted just enough for her to speak.  
  
“They…they got into my head. They beat me, but they made me- they made me…” The Doctor shushed her and held her closer.  
  
“It’s okay. Don’t talk. Just breathe.”  
  
But Amy seemed determined to tell him. Her eyes, one swollen mauve and dark with bruising, opened for a moment to stare steadily into his. “They used my memories to make me see them as you. They made me think it was you hurting me, Raggedy Man. They said—“  
  
The Doctor was having none of it. He leaned down and kissed Amy’s forehead and she shuddered quiet, trembling in his arms. “Amelia Pond,” he said, rocking her back and forth and staring beyond her at the wall, “I am here now. I’m not going to leave you or hurt you…not on your life.” The girl in his arms sighed then, and her body went limp against him. He frantically reached for her wrist, and then exhaled a moment later. Just unconscious. Holding out until she knew he was really himself. Cold, hard fury swelled in his gut towards the Tarlon who had done this to his best friend, but he forced it back down and stood, Amy stretched senseless in his arms. He limped out of the room—he hadn’t gotten away completely unscathed—and pushed the door to the medbay open with his foot. He winced against the overwhelming white in the room. “Make it something decent,” he said out loud to the TARDIS. As though someone opened a window, the walls began morphing into images of outer space, with stars that glittered breathlessly and swirls of colored space dust fringing clusters of planets and galaxies. “Better,” he said, and lowered Amy onto the bed before him. She’d only been with the Tarlon grunts for a few hours, but that was all they’d needed to create a cacophony of bruises and cuts all over her. Her clothing was mangled at best, strips of bare and/or bloody flesh visible beneath her shirt and leggings. When he’d arrived and blown the power grid, two of them were holding her down and one was taking a knife to her pants. It sickened him, but he could be fairly certain they hadn’t violated her. When the lights had gone, Amy was up and running past him before he could even tell her which direction to find the TARDIS. He’d only been able to follow after sonicing a heavy stone door between him and the Tarlon. A thought occurred to him, and 907 years of vomit-free existence nearly went down the drain. If they had tapped into her mind to make themselves look like him, then who she saw brandishing the knife…he bowed his head over the sleeping girl before him, knuckles white on the railing of the bed.  
  
It was a long moment before he could move to reach for the healing gel, but he did and began to rub it gently into the cuts and bruises, touching as lightly as he could. When he finished, he looked around for a closet.  
  
**********   
When Amy opened her eyes, she saw stars. Literally, she realized after a moment, and almost smiled. Something told her she shouldn’t, just before the overall soreness from her beating washed over her and she groaned. She felt a slight pressure on her hand, and then he was blocking her vision and she opened her mouth to scream—stupid, stupid Amy, of course it wasn’t over. He was here-- no, it wasn't him it was them but they were him--her voice died in her throat when her mind fully realized what she was seeing. The Doctor was wearing a towel wrapped around his head, and a full pajama suit speckled with smiling bananas, which he proudly pointed to. He looked for all the world like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and the sight was so opposed to everything she knew about him that for a moment, she couldn’t even think straight. “Doctor?” she whispered, and his smile widened into a genuine warmth.  
  
“Hello, Amelia,” he said, and squeezed her hand. He placed the other on the side of her face. “How do you feel?” he asked. Amy gingerly moved her head and limbs.  
  
“Better,” she said. “less like I’ve been pulled into a bunch of tiny Amy’s and more like the tiny Amy’s were all squished up back into my general shape.” She shut her eyes again, but they opened a moment later and her expression was of such skepticism that The Doctor almost laughed.  
  
“What is it?” He asked.  
  
“Did you actually shower? Like, a proper shower with shampoo and…humany things?”  
  
The Doctor grinned. “I may have had a bottle or two of the stuff,” he said.  
  
“Well you smell weird,” Amy said. “And I’m surprised you didn’t try to eat it.” She glared up at him with one eyebrow raised. “Or did you?”  
  
The Doctor’s smile faltered a bit. “Well…” he said. Amy laughed in disbelief. “It’s your species’ fault,” The Doctor protested. “Only species in the whole universe that makes things that don’t taste like they smell.” Amy’s laughter rose in pitch, and trailed off several moments later. They sat in quiet for a while. Abruptly, Amy said, “Doctor, the Tarlon. They didn’t…” she glanced down at her legs.  
  
“N-n-no,” The Doctor stammered. He shook his head vigorously, his face flushing ever so slightly.  
  
“Right. Good then.” Amy said, and they looked in opposite directions. The Doctor’s hand was still wrapped around Amy’s. She yawned.  
  
“Yes. Rest,” he said. “You need lots and lots of rest. And when you wake up,” we can make tea and go to—“  
  
“Doctor,” Amy said, cutting him off. He broke of and glanced down at her.  
  
“Yes?”  
“Will you please…lay here with me?” The doctor blinked, surprised. “I know it’s not normally your thing, being still and everything and it’s totally fine, I know you don’t…” the words tumbled from Amy in an awkward rush, but she fell silent as The Doctor smiled at her.  
  
“Of course I will.” She scooted over gingerly and made room for him, and he lifted the sheet and maneuvered onto the mattress to curl up against her back. She settled against him and listened to the steady beat of his hearts. The Doctor briefly rested a cheek on her fiery hair and breathed her in.  
  
“You could have died today, Amy Pond,” he said into her ear. “And then where would I be?”  
  
It was several seconds before Amy answered. When she did, it was a question. “Doctor?” she asked. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek and brushed it gently, waiting, staring out into space. “Did you do all this—change into weird clothes and use soap and all of that—so I wouldn’t recognize you and be scared again?” His silence was answer enough, and she reached up and took his hand in hers. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered. She felt him smile, and drifted off to sleep a few minutes later. Much to his surprise, he wasn’t far behind.


End file.
